


On Friendship and Fealty

by Yavemiel



Category: Waringham Series - Rebecca Gablé
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medieval Medicine, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavemiel/pseuds/Yavemiel
Summary: Henry Fitzroy has been captured, and he is certain that he will never see his family again.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for me and for blipintime, as I suspect we may make up most of the readership! I love Henry Fitzroy, and I enjoyed getting inside his head for this little piece, which grew into a longer piece than I expected.

**Day One**

There is nothing quite so final as the clang made by a cell door as it swings shut, cutting off the outside world, sudden and clean...almost like a decapitation, he thought fatalistically.

His head pounded, his mouth dry and tacky with the iron taste of blood thick on his tongue. Lancaster's son had dealt him a harsh blow, but he was only too aware that it could have been worse. The strike to his head had been preceded by an expertly-dealt swipe of the Early of Derby's blade to his arm, causing Henry to drop his sword and sit defenseless in his saddle. Derby could have struck his neck or driven his sword into his chest, but the young lord had chosen mercy, a swift blow to the side of the head with the pommel of his sword felling Henry like a stone, disoriented and pained even with his helmet. If it were not for the fine quality of his armour, it might have been a fatal blow, but Henry of Lancaster knew what he was doing, and as a result, Henry Fitzroy escaped with a gash in his arm, a split lip and a lump the size of a robin's egg on the side of his head.

Looking around his prison cell despairingly, the mercy of the Earl of Derby seemed tenuous indeed, and Henry slumped to a sitting position in the dirty straw and lowered his head into his hands.

**Day Three**

He was never going to see Isabella again.

He chastised himself for such unhelpful thoughts, but he couldn’t help but flash to that moment on the field, Mortimer Durban, Earl of Waringham at his side, his spirit sick with the shame of helping lead an attack on English soil and on English knights, the dishonour of it, the disgrace. And then, Henry of Lancaster, rising out of the mist like a wraith, but fighting with the skill and strength of a warrior twice his age.

The cell was cold and dank, the only flicker of light from a torch that lit the passageway out side Henry's cell, barely visible through the small, barred opening in his door. He had bandaged the wound on his arm, but with no medical equipment and precious little light, the best he had been able to do was to bind it tightly using strips of cloth from his tunic, but he could feel the heat radiating from the limb and he knew that it was likely that infection was setting in. He hadn't dared remove the bandages to check.

Robin - that is, the Earl of Burton - had fought alongside Derby, Henry remembered. Derby had been alone when Waringham had spotted him, hissing triumphantly through his teeth and spurring his horse viciously as he was wont to do, charging at the young Earl with sword raised. Desperately, Henry had driven his own horse forward, praying that he would make it in time, unsure what he could do, but aware that Derby's death would be an unspeakable crime, one from which there could be no recourse. Someone was listening to his prayers it seemed, for Waringham's horse stumbled in the uneven ground, and Henry was the first to reach Derby, lashing out fiercely with his sword, but telegraphing his movements such that a knight with half Derby's skill would have seen them coming.

With some desperation, he had realised that Waringham was still approaching, abandoning all pretense of chivalry, preparing to strike Derby from behind as the Earl fought off Henry's own blows with increasing ease. Henry had been on the point of shouting out to warn Derby when Waringham's attention was suddenly drawn to a new horsed knight who had arrived on the scene, one whose coat of arms and bearing Henry recognised immediately with a sense of deep relief. Robin would not allow Derby to fall, and certainly not to such a man as Waringham. Perhaps he would even kill Waringham and rid them all of a scourge: Henry had been forced to make camp with the man for the two months prior, and would happily have killed him on the field of battle himself for all the vile acts he had seen Waringham partake in.

Robin and Waringham had circled each other, as though sizing up for a fight, but then, as the moment came where they should have engaged, Waringham had moved his horse in a wide circle as though to give himself space to manoeuvre. In the moments that followed, Henry saw Robin wind up to parry the blow, but it never fell. Instead, Waringham turned tail and fled into the mist, a final, fitting act of cowardice. Henry was so distracted that he had missed entirely the blow which was now causing his arm so much pain, and mere seconds later, Derby's fist collided with his head, he fell from his horse, and he remembered no more until he had woken while being dragged unceremoniously between two guards towards the cell he now inhabited.

The guards, while not gratuitously cruel for the most part, had taken great glee in telling him his ransom sum when he begged to know what his fate would be. Five hundred pounds he was told, for crimes against England, and for attacking the Earl of Derby in person, and his heart sank. He had no such fortune, no land to sell and no patron to champion his cause. He did not for one moment fool himself into thinking that the King would intervene on his behalf.

He was never going to see Isabella again, or his little Edward, or the child that Isabella had so joyously announced she was carrying just before he set off on this accursed campaign, and Henry wept bitterly into the unrelenting silence of his cell.

**Day Five**

The infection in the wound in his arm was fully set in now, with the pain a dull and throbbing ache that seemed to echo through his entire body, wracking it as surely as the shivers from the fever. He barely noticed the guards swinging open the door to his prison cell as they did every morning to bring him his meagre rations of weak beer and stale bread. He lay on the floor, his head pillowed on the dirty straw, curled protectively around his wounded arm, which pulsed with pain in time with the beating of his heart.

There was a pause and then footsteps and then he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against a sudden flare of light as a torch was brought close to his face. Both heat and light were uncomfortable and he feebly attempted to twist away, noting in disgust that the whimpering he could hear was likely coming from his own throat.

Weak, he thought savagely, worthless. But he could not make the noises stop and so he sought to turn them to his advantage, slitting his eyes open to squint up at the impassive guard who was inspecting him.

"Please," he said, his voice thin, "I beg of you, send for a priest. Please."

The guard seemed unmoved and he reached out, only to have his hand unceremoniously batted away and he let out a weak cry of pain. The guard stood and walked away, and Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed of his own weakness. Then the footsteps came back and a loud clatter near his head jolted his eyes open and he saw the bread and beer had been laid near him.

"Eat," the guard said with a grunt, "and drink, and I will see about a priest."

He left the cell, and Henry gratefully dipped the bread in beer and chewed slowly. The act of eating made him feel slightly better, but it also exhausted him, and he fell back into a deep sleep.

**Day Six**

The footsteps were back again, but by this time Henry was too weak to even move in response, the fever burning as bright as ever and making him cold and hot all at once. The world seemed far away, as though all noise was being filtered by a film of water, the sounds muffled and nonsensical.

A cool hand touched his fevered brow and he whimpered and turned into it automatically, seeking more of the comfort. It left briefly and came back with a wet cloth damp with cold water and he could have cried from how good it felt, how refreshing.

He gradually became aware that someone was calling his name, the voice familiar and he struggled to focus.

"...enry? Henry, come along, wake up, there's a good chap. Henry!"

He coaxed his eyes open to find his vision was swimming as badly as his hearing, but he recognised the face above him.

"Ro...bin?" he asked, his voice creaking from disuse and illness.

"Yes, Henry, it's me, Robin," his friend said, and Henry felt a sudden rush of shame as he remembered the last time he'd seen Robin on the battlefield, and thought of the picture he must make now, curled on the floor of a cell in his own filth, trembling and crying. He turned his face away as best he could to hide the tears, but he heard Robin's in-drawn breath, and felt the cool cloth move from his forehead to wipe at his face.

Robin's hands moved to his midriff, where he was still curled around his arm and though he was gentle, his attempt to move Henry's arm sent pain coursing through it like a white hot spear and he screamed raggedly. His vision turned black as his eyes screwed closed and he welcomed the dark embrace of oblivion as it came rushing up to meet him, his mind unable to cope with the pain.

As he passed out, he thought he could hear Robin yelling angrily at the guards, but he had no time to pursue the thought further as the blackness rushed up and enveloped him.

**Day Eleven**

Much to his surprise, Henry awoke.

He did not open his eyes immediately, though he could tell from the light that beamed even through the lids that he was no longer in his prison cell. Details filtered through to him gradually. His arm was sore but not excruciating, bound up in some sort of sling against his chest, and he was laid on a soft bed, with a warm covering. He could hear birdsong, and the gentle clatter of household noises. He became aware that his throat was dry, and he coughed slightly, trying to wet it in vain.

At his cough, there was a noise by his side, and he prised his eyes open, squinting against the light. On a chair by his bedside sat Edward, Robin's young son, the book he had been reading cast aside as he leaned forward to inspect Henry. For a moment, they stared at each other unmoving, and then Edward smiled at him, the quiet smile he'd come to associate with the solemn little boy.

"Good morning, my Lord," Edward said politely. "How're you feeling?"

Henry cleared his throat again.

"I'm...alive," he said, the surprise of it hitting him again. "But my throat is terribly dry. Is there any wine to hand?"

Edward shook his head. "The doctor advises that you are not to have wine, Sir, not after your illness, but I have some water here if that pleases you?"

Henry nodded, and Edward carefully poured a goblet of water as Henry awkwardly levered himself to a sitting position using his good arm. He accepted the goblet gratefully and drank deeply, the water tasting as sweet as any wine he'd ever had in the court of the King. It was finished before he realised it, but Edward was there instantly, refilling it, and he drank again. He waved Edward off as he offered to refill it a third time, wanting to drink, but knowing from experience that it was better not to fill his stomach too soon, even with something as mild as water.

Already the strain of sitting up and moving was tiring him and he laid back against the pillows with a grateful sigh. He meant to ask Edward what had happened, but having slaked his thirst, his body's demands took over and he slipped back into sleep without realising it.

**Day Eleven**

When he opened his eyes again, darkness had fallen outside and it was night. His heart jumped to his throat for a moment, thinking himself back in his cell, but he was quickly reassured by the abundance of torchlight.

"I wasn't so fond of the dark myself after a stay in the cells."

Startled, Henry's gaze jumped from the torches to the man sat in the chair next to the bed, and Robin smiled at him kindly. Henry cut his eyes away and cleared his throat awkwardly. There was a brief silence as both men struggled to open the conversation.

Eventually it was Robin who broke the silence, his voice very serious. "Lord Fitzroy, I would like to offer you my deepest apologies, on behalf both of myself and the Earl of Derby. Your treatment while imprisoned was shameful, and the guards will face severe consequences for their neglect."

Astonished, Henry stared at Robin, who met his gaze straight on. "You're...apologizing to me?"

Robin nodded and Henry shook his head in disbelief, dropping his gaze to trace the pattern of the bedspread with his eyes.

"My lord," he said, "it is I who should be apologizing. Though my oath is to the king, I betrayed my country in helping bring those mercenaries to English soil. I assisted traitors, I attacked the Earl of Derby, the Duke of Lancaster's son...I abandoned my honour, sir."

Robin was silent for a brief moment, and then he said "Fitzroy, look at me."

Henry did so, reluctantly.

"You have not lost your honour." Robin said firmly. "I interrogated some of the mercenaries after the battle, and I know who gave orders to retreat in order to minimise casualties on both sides. And do you think that the Earl of Derby cannot tell when a man is pulling his punches? You no more wished to attack him than you would your own brother. He holds no grudges, my Lord Fitzroy."

"But, the ransom," Henry started, but Robin cut him off.

"Imposed by the King," he said, "who said he could not overlook such an egregious attempt on his beloved cousin's life."

Henry gave Robin an incredulous look, and Robin grimaced as though in apology. They both knew on whose orders Henry had been at Radcot Bridge.

"That ransom...Fitzjervais, I have no hope of paying that, not even if Isabella sold every thing that we own, not even if I went warfaring for the rest of my life and gave every penny to the crown. I am destined to spend the rest of my life in a cell not unlike the one you plucked me from, and by God, I pray that it is a short stay. I cannot bear the thought of shrivelling away in a cage, while my children," his voice cracked, "my son grows up in the shadow of my treachery. I cannot bear it."

Robin leaned forward and grasped Henry's good hand tightly. "Henry, I would not allow that to happen. Do not trouble yourself: I have paid it, and you are free to leave this room and go home to your wife and your children, as soon as your legs will carry you to your horse."

Henry stared at him in shock, his mouth slack and open. "But...but sir, that ransom was five hundred pounds! A ransom more fit for a prince than for a landless knight."

Robin smiled wryly at him. "Henry, in order to regain my lands at Burton, I had agree to pay the crown one thousand pounds. Do you not think that I would gladly pay half that for the freedom and honour of my oldest friend?"

Overwhelmed, Henry grasped Robin's hand tighter, and brought it to his lips, kissing the signet ring reverently. "My Lord, how can I repay this kindness? I am forever in your debt."

Robin shook his head, looking slightly alarmed. "None of that now, no 'my Lord's' between us, my friend. You owe me no debt, other than to go home safely to your family."

"Then it shall be done," he said, "but Robin: before I go to my family, I must first go to my King."

"Why?" Robin asked, startled.

"I must ask him to release me from my oath," Henry said, the feeling of making a momentous, righteous decision thrumming through his veins, "and then, my Lord...Robin, if you will have me, I will enter your service with my family and live out my days serving my liege in the certain knowledge that he is a good man."

Robin smiled at him, gladly. "If that is your wish, then I will gladly grant it. I can think of no one I would so gratefully accept into my service."

They fell into silence once more, and Henry drifted into sleep at peace, a smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his recovery, Henry must face the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For blipintime, who loves these characters the way I do, and is always available for me to shriek about Henry.

It took Henry a further two days of bed rest before he felt equal to the task of hauling himself out of bed and gingerly across the room to the window, inhaling the fresh air and turning his face up to the sunlight. The memory of the dark cell was fading mercifully fast, seeming to his mind no more than a fever dream now, but he was still grateful for the bright January sunshine and the cool crisp air.

He had spent Christmas imprisoned, unaware of its passing, and the new year had dawned bright and promising the day after he made his pledge to Robin. It felt fitting, a new year and a new direction, and he wanted nothing more than to regain his strength so that he could travel to the King in London and ask to be released from his oath. It felt like a millstone around his neck, the weight of it dragging him down, an oath that in truth Henry had made to the Black Prince, not to the King himself, and he wished fervently for it to be gone.

He spent much of his time resting, with Robin and Edward keeping him company when they could, Edward’s squire duties and Robin’s responsibilities in Derby’s court keeping them both busy. Edward attended to him in the mornings, bringing him breakfast and helping him refresh himself somewhat, and then sped off to his squire’s duties with such haste that Henry suspected he was taking time out of his own day to help him.

Robin’s visits were less regular, but no less vital: a once-off visit could have been construed as guilt at Henry’s illness, or residual loyalty from once-shared camaraderie. That Robin returned time and again as his own duties allowed convinced Henry that the forgiveness and friendship that Robin had offered him was lasting and true, and he gladly looked forward to the companionship, having little to while away his own days but sleep, exchanging letters with his beloved Isabella, and reading the Book of Common Prayer that Edward had provided him with.

Robin told him amusing tales of the household, of how one of the cook’s boys had stayed up late drinking and the next day fallen asleep straight into a large pot of soup that the cook had been preparing (mercifully cool, so the boy had suffered no harm), of the cook’s outraged shrieks that were heard throughout the castle. He told him how Oswin was charming the ladies in waiting with his thick country manners, and how Raymond was dashing everywhere as fast as his legs could take him, a menace to his nanny, but beloved of all the squires and the maids.

At first, he avoided the topic of politics, the King and the Earl of Derby conspicuous in their absence from his conversation, but as his strength returned and Robin’s visits to his rooms turned into walks about the castle grounds, Henry was eager to know what the ramifications of the Battle at Radcot Bridge had been, even as he also dreaded the news. After a week, he pressed Robin further.

“And has the Earl of Derby returned to the King’s court?”

Robin gave him a wry look. “Direct as ever, my friend. He has: in fact, he spent his Christmas in Westminster, with the King’s household.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “They are reconciled then?”

“Why, there was no reconciliation to be undertaken,” said Robin, “as there was no conflict, simply two cousins united in their desire to keep England safe from her enemies.”

Henry stared at him, and Robin waved a hand in the air as if to say ‘I know, I know’.

“Richard has been publicly grateful to Henry for his swift and decisive action in repelling those who would seek to attack the crown,” Robin said, and Henry mulled that over for a second.

“And privately?”

“Ah,” said Robin, and smiles. “Privately, I believe that Richard has been furious, but meek as a lamb when speaking to Henry. He knows he’s been outmanoeuvred. He can’t disagree with anything Henry suggests when it comes to punishing the perpetrators, or it’ll look like he’s giving them undue favour. The only thing he has been able to do is insist that all ‘members of the conspiracy’ are punished equally, regardless of their rank: hence, the ransom on your head.”

“He should ransom himself in that case,” Henry said, “as it was on his orders that we were there at all.”

“I know,” Robin said, giving him a grave look, “and believe me, I sympathise with the injustice of it, but Henry, you must be careful. Do not give voice to those opinions outside of this room and this company, or you may find a bounty rather than a ransom on your head. I cannot protect you from everything, my friend.”

Henry blew out a breath, allowing the rage flowing through him to subside, and allowing his sense to take over. “Fear not, I will control myself. The injustices of mere mortals like you and I are nothing next to the reputation of our King.”

Robin inclined his head, and they sat in silence for a moment before Robin broke it.

“I’m afraid that the time has come for me to return to Burton. The foaling season will be starting soon, and they’ll need all the help they can get. Are you still resolved to petition the King to be released from your oath?”

“I am,” Henry said.

“In that case, our paths must part for the time being, my friend. The King is in Westminster still, and I believe he shall be there for another three weeks hence. After that, he is to make his way to Canterbury, I believe, to shore up relations with the church.”

“I believe I am strong enough to travel now,” Henry said. “I will ride out tomorrow and make for Westminster with all haste. I hope to be with you in Burton before Shrovetide.”

“Very well,” said Robin, “we shall look forward to seeing you. I know that Isabella is most anxious to be reunited, as I’m sure her letters have made plain.”

They had. Isabella’s first letters had been almost incoherent with desperate worry for Henry’s health and freedom, and though Robin had written to her to assure her that Henry was being looked after as fully as possible, he had taken up a quill himself as soon as his hand had stopped shaking and written her to let her know that he was in truth both recovering and free. The relief in her reply had been both tangible and touching, and he had felt the warmth of her love pouring through her words. He was eager to be reunited with her as soon as possible, conscious of the babe swelling her stomach and the worry she had suffered.

His business with the King could not wait however, and the next day, he prepared to ride out, sending for a squire to ready his horse as he gathered his belongings and provisions for the three day ride to London. As he did so, a polite knock at the door of his bedchamber interrupted him and when he said ‘Come in,’ in a distracted tone, it opened to admit Edward, who slipped quietly into the room.

“My Lord,” he said, “My father requests your presence in his chambers at your earliest convenience.”

“Oh,” Henry said, a little surprised. “Of course, I will attend him momentarily.”

He put down his pack and followed Edward out of the room and up a set of spiral stairs to the more spacious rooms that Robin occupied when he stayed at Derby. Edward opened the door for him and bowed, heading back down the stairs and out of sight.

Henry entered to find Robin sitting at his desk, examining a piece of parchment. Henry thought he spied the King’s seal on the bottom roll and felt an uneasy tingle down his spine.

“My Lord,” he said, with a courteous dip of his head as Robin looked up at him. “To what do I owe the honour?”

“Ah, Fitzroy,” Robin said cheerfully. “Still planning to leave for Westminster today?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Henry said. “My horse is being readied as we speak.”

“Is there a chance I can persuade you to wait an extra day?” Robin asked.

“My Lord?”

Robin sighed and waved the piece of parchment in his hands. “It seems that yet again events are conspiring against my plans to be in Burton for the foaling season for once. The King has requested my presence at court ‘at my earliest convenience’, which means ‘now’, as I’m sure you well know. It will take me a day to ready my retinue, but if you are willing to wait, I would be delighted to have you travel with us.”

“I would be honoured, my Lord,” Henry said, making no effort to hide the relief on his face. In truth, he had not been looking forward to the journey, nor to arriving in London alone. The thought of travelling with Robin by his side once more was an attractive one, bolstering as he thought of his conversation with the King.

“Splendid,” said Robin. “Then you must join us for dinner in the hall this evening, and we shall set off at first light.”

The journey to London was slightly slower than it might have been had Henry travelled alone, with Robin’s party travelling at a sedate pace and stopping early each night to ensure the horses were well rested, and insulated from the cool night air of the late winter melting into early spring. Nevertheless, they were in London not four days after they had set out, and Henry watched the city walls come into view with a mixture of relief and trepidation. On the road with Robin, it had been as though nothing had changed, and he felt himself comfortably sink back into their companionable friendship. He was keenly aware of his recovering body though, and he wished for nothing more than a night’s sleep in a proper bed. Robin had offered him a room in his house in London, and Henry had gratefully accepted. That night they ate well before retiring, and Henry slept the sleep of the weary traveller.

***

“And why have you come before us today, Sir Knight?”

The King’s tone was distant, almost bored, and Henry took a deep breath both to calm his nerves and to swallow down the rage at this spoiled boy child who had almost ruined his life, not even as revenge, just as collateral damage in a transparent effort to save face.

“Your Highness, I come before you to humbly beseech that I be released from the oath I made to your father, Prince Edward, which was transferred to you at the moment of his death.”

The King sat up straighter and skewered Henry with his gaze. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “The years I have been graced with in your service have been an honour, Sire, and I will never forget them for as long as God gives me leave in this life. However, I have recently been burdened with a life debt that I must honour, and I beg leave of your service so that I may fulfil this new obligation.”

A half truth, for Robin would never demand that Henry give up his service to the King in service of a life debt, but Henry’s honour demanded it, and in truth, the thought of leaving the King’s court was a greater relief than he would ever allow himself to admit aloud.

Richard’s face was a mixture of petulance and malice, and Henry felt his heart sink, bracing himself.

“A life debt is of course, a serious matter of honour,” the King began, though his tone suggested that he doubted it. “But surely you agree, Sir Knight, that there is no greater matter of personal honour than the call to serve one’s King?”

Henry gritted his teeth, and was about to answer, when the loud sound of a door dragging over stone distracted both of them, Henry confused and the King clearly angry about the disturbance. Henry did not dare turn around to see who had joined them, but watched as the King’s face moved from anger briefly to rage and hatred before being concealed beneath a smooth mask of courtly welcome before he said, “Cousin. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Henry of Lancaster, Earl of Derby, moved into Henry’s field of vision, and he felt his insides shrivel in shame as he saw the man he had attacked so recently for the first time since the battle.

“Your Highness,” said Derby deferentially. “I beg your forgiveness for intruding upon your audience uninvited in this way, but when word reached me of your supplicant, I felt that I was honour-bound to make an entreaty of my own.”

“Indeed.” Richard’s voice could have frozen fire in midsummer, but Derby appeared to pay it no mind, clapping a companionable hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“You see, Sire,” he continued, “In my investigations into the abhorrent treachery at Radcot Bridge, my interrogation of several members of the captured mercenary force revealed to me that in the midst of our betrayal, one man consistently worked with only England’s best interests at heart.” He paused to indicate Henry, and while Richard’s expression didn’t change, he somehow conveyed his skepticism. “He ordered the retreats which saved the lives of many men on both sides, and personally thwarted an attempt on my life.”

Henry thought this was an exaggeration, but he remained silent. “I owe him my life, and the lives of many of my men besides. And while his honour would never allow him to admit to it, I know from speaking to my physician that the wound he sustained on the battlefield is one which will pain him for the rest of his life. So I beg of you, Sire, in recognition of his years of loyal service, and as a personal favour to me: release him from your service, and allow him to live the remainder of his life in what little comfort his physical state will allow.”

There was a deathly silence as Henry and Richard both absorbed Derby’s intervention, and Henry did not dare allow himself to hope until the King rose to his feet and said, with obvious reluctance. “I did not realise, Sir Knight, that your wound pained you so deeply, nor that your service to my dear cousin, the Earl of Derby, was so great. Come.”

He indicated the floor in front of the throne, and with a barely repressed sigh of relief, Henry went.

***

The door to the King’s chambers swung closed with a deep, resonant sound, and for once, it didn’t sound ominous to Henry. He hesitated, unsure, then glanced at the Earl of Derby who was watching him knowingly, then indicated with a jerk of his head that Henry should follow him. He did, unquestioning.

They passed the guards and Derby led them deeper into the winding corridors of the palace, eventually ducking into a small alcove shielded from prying eyes by thick curtains.

There was a brief moment of silence, then the clang of Henry’s armoured knees hitting the stone floor rent the air before he had made the conscious decision to kneel.

“My Lord,” he began, before stopping, overwhelmed and uncertain of how to express himself.

Derby cleared his throat uncomfortably. “There is no need to kneel, Fitzroy.”

Henry stayed kneeling. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

“There is no need for thanks or repayment,” Derby said firmly, grasping Henry’s arm and drawing him to his feet. “What I said to the King was nothing more than the truth: I spoke to the mercenaries, and they told me of your deeds. And while it may have been an unorthodox manner of protection, you undoubtedly prevented the erstwhile Earl of Waringham from launching an attempt on my life. That is why I wished a moment to speak with you in private. Thank you, Fitzroy. I am in your debt.”

Henry inclined his head awkwardly, unsure how to accept praise he was certain was not his due.

“There is no debt to be paid, my Lord, not after the assistance with which you provided me today.” Henry hesitated, then continued, “My Lord...my arm, what you said to the King...the pain is not that great.”

Derby feigned a look of astonishment. “But my physician assured me that the wound was of great seriousness, you almost died.”

“That is true, my Lord,” Henry allowed, “But the excellent care which was afforded me has ensured that I have already almost regained full use of the arm, and the pain is minimal, and will fade I am sure.”

“What wonderful news,” Derby announced. “May I congratulate you, Fitzroy, on your unexpected and near miraculous recovery, God has smiled upon you indeed!”

Henry smiled hesitantly, and Derby returned it with a conspiratorial air.

“Now,” he said, “if there is nothing else, Fitzroy?”

“My Lord,” Henry said, a sinking sensation in his stomach, but knowing that his honour demanded it. “The service you rendered to me today goes far beyond any debt which may have been owed. To surrender a personal favour from the King...if you would have me, my Lord, I would gladly enter your service to repay that kindness.”

Derby smiled at him gently.

“I am honoured by your offer, Lord Fitzroy,” he said, “But I have many more vassals than I know what to do with, and besides, Robin would never forgive me. I may even find myself banned from his new estates.”

“New estates?”

“Why, have you not heard? The Earl of Waringham has fled the country, and the King plans to ask the Earl of Durban to take over his estate. I suspect the new Earl may have need of a steward.”

Henry could not hold back his laugh, astonished and delighted, and the Earl of Derby smiled.

***

Two weeks later, Henry rode into the main courtyard at Waringham as a member of Robin’s household, the words of his new oath of fealty still fresh on his tongue, Robin’s approving smile and firm grasp of his hands a balm to his battered honour, and his immediate offer of stewardship of Waringham a boost to Henry’s trampled pride.

He looked around the courtyard with an appraising eye, absently making note of the things he would need to fix, a new balustrade for the balcony, a better gate for the stables, when a sudden cry drew him from his contemplation, and all his attention was focussed on the very pregnant woman dashing towards him, a toddler and nanny stumbling in her wake.

He dismounted in a flash, and no sooner had his feet hit the ground than he found his arms full of his weeping wife, her arms thrown around his neck as she held him tightly. He closed his eyes, and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, allowing himself to be comforted and soothed by her physical presence. He felt his son’s small body hit his legs and he opened his eyes and disentangled himself from Isabella long enough to scoop the boy up, bouncing him gaily before settling him in his embrace, where he trustingly laid his head against his father’s neck.

With his son in his arms and Isabella by his side, he slowly, happily made his way up to their new home.

***

_“I promise on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the lord, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit."_   
_  
-Sample Oath of Fealty_

_-fin-_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this! If you did, please let me know, I am always only too happy to chat about Robin and his friends!


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